


Relentless

by Tommykaine



Series: I contain multitudes [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Challenge Response, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Culture, Light Angst, M/M, Master/Pupil Relationship, Mixed Race Protagonist, Overstimulation, Pseudo-History, Samurai, Switching, Teasing, Wakashudo (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommykaine/pseuds/Tommykaine
Summary: Their relationship was supposed to have stopped, but neither of them can resist the temptation.After being seduced once again, Murakami assures his disciple Keisuke that he will make him beg him to stop. Keisuke dares him to try.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: I contain multitudes [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1290470
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Relentless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsRedLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsRedLady/gifts).



> This was inspired by a roleplay (basically a backstory for one of the characters), it does not play into the story but the setting is actually historical fantasy as there are shapeshifting merpeople
> 
> This was written originally for the Kinktober challenge and the prompt I chose to use was "overstimulation"
> 
> This also participates to the Banned Together Bingo using the prompt "Hot Sex"

It had been a long day of training. By the time he retreated into his master’s house, Keisuke was tired and a little sore.

However, as soon as he saw the shoes placed by the entrance, his heart raced and he kicked off his sandals, dashing inside.

“Master!” he called out. “Master Murakami!” He rushed through the house, sliding the doors open so violently the paper nearly ripped. “Mas-”

The glint of a blade alerted him of the danger, but too late. By the time he drew his sword, the other man had already grabbed him and pressed his sword against his neck.

“Keisuke,” Murakami’s stern voice scolded him, yet the warm breath against his ear made him shiver for a much different reason. “I’m disappointed. What did I always tell you?”

“Never… never lower my guard,” Keisuke replied, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry. I was excited to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I could have been an enemy. You would have been dead” The sword pressed harder against his throat, enough to lightly scrape his skin. “Let this be your lesson for today.”

The blade hissed as it was drawn back, sliding into its sheath. The older man didn’t let go of him, but rather his grasp loosened and his hold turned into a gentle embrace. Keisuke relaxed and placed his arms above his master’s.

“I’ve missed you as well, Kei-chan,” Murakami told him. His tone was soft, wistful. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“You should have brought me with you,” Keisuke replied, and he couldn’t help but sound a little annoyed. “I’m old enough, aren’t I?”

“It is not how old you are. It’s whether you’re ready.” Murakami let go of him, walking until he was in front of him. His brown eyes met Keisuke’s blue ones. “You’re still too impatient. Too reckless.”

Keisuke would have wanted to complain, but his master had just proven his point to him with his actions, any words of assurance that it was not the case would have been weak in comparison. He sighed. One day, he would travel together with his master. Learn more of the outside world. The same from which his mother came from.

He did not have many memories of her. Lydia. He remembered her warm, pale hands and long blonde hair. Her eyes, the same ocean blue eyes, often filled with sorrow. She sang songs in a language his father could not understand. She stuck out, getting odd looks whenever they went. She never quite belonged there. And, one day, she poisoned herself with the same medicine she used to cure others.

He remembered she spoke fondly of her homeland. Far from there. A land with different traditions, a land where women could learn to heal and lead a country and sometimes even fight. A land where foreigners were not an oddity, where merchants came from all over the world, where it was not so hard to do as you wished and not as you were expected to. Perhaps that place only existed in her memories, rose-tinted with nostalgia. Yet, Keisuke wished to see that land with his own eyes.

It was not just that. His master was the only one who truly accepted him. The only one Keisuke truly felt comfortable sharing his thoughts with, even if they did not always agree. He always felt lonely when they were apart.

“Your clothes, they are damp with sweat,” Murakami said. “Were you training?”

“Of course. Do you wish to see?”

His master smiled. “Not today. I am tired from the travel. I came here to leave my things, then I will go to the hot springs. Do you wish to come?”

Keisuke’s eyes lit up. “That sounds wonderful.”

Murakami nodded.

“Then it is decided.”

Keisuke had almost dozed off by the time Murakami came into their room. He sat up and grasped on his sword, relaxing when he recognized the man.

Murakami chuckled. “You remember your lesson.” He had not changed into his clothes yet. A white towel was wrapped around his waist, and he was holding a tray with a bottle and two small cups.

“Drink with me.”

They each filled the other’s cup and sipped on the clear liquor. Keisuke’s eyes lingered on his master’s body. On the drops of water that trickled down his chest, along his abdomen, finally disappearing into his towel. His hair was graying, but his body was strong and firm.

Murakami caught him watching and smirked. Keisuke blushed, but did not look away.

“You still look at me with such eyes. You’re a grown man now, you should turn those eyes to someone younger than me… or so I should tell you.” Murakami sighed. “And yet, I would still wish to draw my sword against anyone else who dared to touch my pupil, young or old.”

“My body is that of a man, but my heart still yearns for his teacher. I am yours, master. My beloved master,” Keisuke replied, moving in closer and resting his hand against the man’s chest, above his heart. He leaned in to kiss him, but Murakami turned his head. Frustrated, Keisuke pushed him down on the tatami and climbed above him, sitting in his lap.

“If you do not take me, I will take you,” he told him, frowning when his master laughed at him.

“You speak to me like I’m a shy young maiden. You truly are a man, _Kei-chan_.”

Before he knew it, the man grasped on his hips with his legs and toppled him to the side, then he pushed him down and pressed him against the tatami.

“But, there is still much I have to teach you. Do not be so cocky as to believe I’d let you lead the way.”

Murakami’s hand pulled on the loosely wrapped sash around his waist until it slipped off of him, then slid his hand inside Keisuke’s kimono. The younger man gasped when he felt his rough palm against his chest, his fingers brushing against his nipple.

“Master,” he cried out softly, turning his head to look at him, begging him with his eyes.

Murakami sighed again, but finally leaned in to capture Keisuke’s lips into a slow, intimate kiss, pulling him closer and opening the front of his kimono. His hand moved down along Keisuke’s body, making him shiver as he reached past his pubes, ignoring his growing arousal to caress one of his milky-white thighs, digging his fingers into the soft skin.

“You’ll be begging me to stop,” the man threatened as soon as their lips parted. Rather than feeling afraid, Keisuke’s heart raced and he grasped on Murakami’s hair.

“If you don’t get tired faster, old man,” he teased.

Murakami scoffed. “Shameless, impudent child. It is decided. I will not stop, even if you cry.”

The man knelt above him, while Keisuke lay down and smiled, his arms and his legs spread. He was not ashamed of his body. He wanted his master to look. When he noticed his arousal pressing against the fabric of the towel, his smile widened.

“How many have you embraced, while you awaited?” Murakami asked, his hands roaming from Keisuke’s stomach to his chest, then up to his shoulders, caressing him with only his fingertips. One hand trailed along his neck and reached his face, stroking his cheek, his thumb pressing against Keisuke’s lips.

“No one, master,” he replied, earnestly. His body shivered, yearning for his master’s touch, his skin covering in goosebumps. He wanted more. This was just teasing. “I still only know your embrace. I do not care for another.”

Murakami’s expression was confusing to him. His eyes lit up for a moment, his lips curving into a smirk, but then he frowned.

“I have lain with a woman,” he confessed.

Keisuke knew it shouldn’t have upset him, but he still looked away from him, biting his lip and clenching his fists.

“You too should learn the touch of a woman,” Murakami continued, stroking his face and his hair, and Keisuke did not want to sigh and lean into his touch but he couldn’t help it.

“I have no desire for it. A woman’s touch would not feel as wonderful as yours,” he replied, looking back at him. There was hurt in his eyes, even if he knew it was unwarranted. His master still looked at him like he was a precious thing. Keisuke understood what he was saying, but he did not care for it. “Your hands, they made me what I am. No one else’s would know my body as well as yours. I would not crave for their touch in the same way. I would not lay awake and think of them at night.”

“I cannot be yours forever, and I can’t allow you to be mine,” Murakami insisted, sounding stern but also wistful. “Kei-chan, if I could forever bind you to me, if I could make it so that you would never look at another with those eyes, my heart would desire for nothing more than to cast that spell on you. Yet I would not do it, because I am your master, and I must teach you the right way.”

Keisuke’s eyes were wet with tears. Murakami brushed them away with his thumbs as they spilled, leaning down to kiss him. Keisuke’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, holding him tightly. His master was right and he did not like it.

“I will not hear another word,” he said when they lips parted. “I love you. I have missed you too much. I do not want to think of when our paths will bring us apart.”

“I remind myself as much as you,” Murakami replied. “I do not like to think of it. I am selfish. I am weak to my desires. That woman, she had your eyes, blue like the ocean. Your long black hair. She had your pale, white skin. I lay with her, and I still saw you. But she did not look at me like you, she did not feel like you. It only made the longing stronger.”

Keisuke smirked, even knowing he should not be rejoicing. Emboldened, he brought his hand down to pull at his master’s towel, tossing it aside and then finding his arousal. He caressed it slowly, tracing its length, touching it as if he wanted to memorize its shape. He felt elated when Murakami gasped, his breath growing heavier.

“You said I will beg you to stop.”

Murakami kissed him again. “That you will do.”

His hands went down to Keisuke’s thighs, spreading them open. He moved down to kiss them, all the way from the fold of his knees to his hipbones, licking at the curve of his groin, breathing against his hardening length without touching it.

Keisuke grasped on his hair, panting and gasping, shivering from every kiss, every little touch. His master’s hand brushed his pubic hair and his wrist lightly grazed his arousal, but whenever Keisuke tried to shift his hips to meet his touch or push the man’s head closer to his length, Murakami just avoided it.

By the time Keisuke was fully hard, Murakami moved on to kiss his stomach, licking along the very faint trail of hairs in the middle of his abdomen, dipping his tongue into his navel, sucking and kissing his skin and leaving bright red marks on it. He reached his chest and covered it in more marks, while Keisuke’s hard length pressed against his master’s stomach in that pose.

“Master…” Keisuke cried out softly, gasping loudly when the man’s mouth closed on one of his nipples, his warm tongue moving in circles and his teeth teasing it, lightly biting on it. When his master sucked on it, Keisuke moaned out loud and wrapped his arms around his back, grasping on his hair and his shoulder.

Murakami’s promise sounded absurd to Keisuke. He could not imagine ever asking him to stop. He could never get enough of his master’s touch. If anything, he wanted more. It was not enough, he was just being teased, he would never climax like that.

Rather than giving him what he wanted, Murakami continued to lick and kiss all over his chest, focusing on his nipples, then he went on to do the same with his arms, from the hollow of his armpits to the tip of his fingers, taking two of them into his mouth and sucking gently on them, then kissing his palm.

“Master!” Keisuke cried out again, with more urgency. The man only moved on to kiss and lick at his collarbone and neck, teeth lightly grazing his Adam’s apple, then those lips were on his ear and the man sucked and nibbled on his earlobe, before trailing his tongue along the outer shell and lightly dipping it into his canal. Keisuke could feel his arousal brushing against his own, so he shifted his hips and tried to rub them together, bringing a hand down to stroke them, but Murakami grabbed his wrist and moved it away.

“You torment me,” Keisuke complained.

“Patience has never been your strength,” Murakami replied, brushing his knuckles against Keisuke’s cheek. “I won’t let you rush it today. I will touch you for every day I was unable to. I will hold you until the sun rises again.”

Keisuke swallowed hard. Those words made his heart race. He wrapped his arms around him again and kissed him. Murakami kissed him back, allowing him to move his hips against his, to let their lengths touch and rub together, and when the kiss ended his master joked about their ‘swords’ crossing again, making them both laugh.

From that moment on, his master continued to tease his body without letting him finish. When Keisuke’s movements grew more frantic, his arousal slicked with precum, Murakami moved away and went to pick a jar of massage oil. Keisuke expected him to prepare him with it, but instead Murakami poured it in his hand and started to spread it all over his body, his hands sliding along his skin and giving him a different sensation, weird but not unwelcome.

He whined when the man insisted on his hard nipples, rubbing his palms and knuckles against them while Keisuke squirmed and moaned. He was made to turn to the side and his thighs were slicked with oil, before Murakami pushed his hard length between them and made him push them together, lazily moving his hips to enjoy the soft feel of his skin, spreading more of the oil underneath Keisuke’s own length and his sac as his shaft rubbed against the underside of his lover’s arousal.

“Master, master, please,” Keisuke called out, whining in frustration whenever he tried to touch himself or Murakami only for the other to stop him and hold him down, continuing to play with his body as he pleased.

When he was made to lie down, his face and chest against the tatami, his knees spread apart and his hips lifted up, he cried out in delight as he finally felt his master’s oiled up fingers slip inside of him. Once again, however, it was a slow exploration, as if the other man was preparing him for the very first time. Keisuke did not need much to get used to it, still Murakami only put one finger in first, ever so slightly moving it in circles, looking for the spot that gave him the most pleasure but only lightly grazing it when he did find it, adding a second finger only to move them even slower. When Keisuke tried to move his hips, Murakami immediately pulled his fingers out and held his thighs still, then brought his head down between his buttocks and started licking at his entrance, moving his tongue in circles and occasionally licking down to the sweet spot between his sac and his twitching hole.

Keisuke whimpered and called out his master’s name, his legs trembling and his desire leaking from the tip of his length. Whenever his master pushed his fingers in again, he tried to move his hips, but that only prompted the man to pull them out and tease him with his tongue. Finally, after the fourth attempt Keisuke realized there would be no end to it until he kept still, even if the slow movements of Murakami’s fingers were maddening and he was more than ready for more.

“Why won’t you hold me already?” Keisuke cried at some point, his tone whiny and desperate.

“I will hold you when I want to do so. Now, stay still,” Murakami responded, and rather than hurrying up he took his arousal in his hand and started to lick it all over, from the tip to his swollen sac, never taking it into his mouth.

Keisuke did not dare to move his hips out of fear that his master would stop, now that he was at least giving some relief to his poor ignored length. It was so slow and frustrating that it was almost more of a torture, but every nerve of his body begged for more, and little by little he could feel his climax approach, tensing his body and making him clench around Murakami’s fingers as the waves of pleasure coursed through him. He was panting and moaning and clenching his fists, pressing his face against the tatami as the sweat dripped down his flushed skin, as he quivered and finally arched up with a strangled cry, pleasure rushing through him and blanking his mind for a moment.

Murakami kept on fingering him and lapping at his spent arousal like a cat, even when Keisuke’s body collapsed and he tried to move away, the touch feeling so intense it was almost painful. His master, however, did not give him any respite. Instead, he made him turn around and climbed over him until his crotch was above Keisuke’s face, his own length still hard with unspent desire. He made him lift his legs and fold them against his body, holding him in an embarrassing pose, thighs spread apart and buttocks in the air.

Keisuke’s entire length was suddenly taken into his master’s warm mouth, and he cried and struggled, but the man didn’t relent. It was overwhelming, it felt as if his nerves were on fire, but the man didn’t care and kept on sucking and licking until Keisuke’s arousal swelled and filled his mouth, hitting the back of his throat.

Keisuke then tried to reciprocate, something that Murakami allowed. They both pleasured each other, tasting each other’s desire, using their experience to welcome it fully, to bring each other to their climax. Murakami was close, Keisuke could tell, but before he could release he pulled out and let go of him, making him turn and lay on his stomach, this time without making him lift his hips.

He penetrated him slowly, as if he was savoring the feel of his tight passage on every single centimeter of his length. He held him down with his body and rocked him against the tatami, making the underside of his body rub against the rough surface, particularly his nipples and his arousal. It was not painful because it was slow, but it was still harsh on his sensitive skin. Still, Keisuke begged for more, whimpering and groaning when his master kept going at a leisurely pace for what felt like an eternity.

“You can’t be satisfied with this,” he complained.

“I am enjoying myself immensely,” Murakami argued, chuckling at his impatience. “This connection, this feeling of being one, I could never get tired. I wish it could last forever.”

Keisuke tried to put up with it, until he could no longer stand it.

“Let me do it, please,” he begged him. “I need more, please, I will go insane!”

“If you say so,” Murakami conceded, pulling out and handing the jar of oil to him, laying down on his back in front of him.

Keisuke forced himself not to rush, not wanting to hurt his master. It was not often that he was allowed to take him. It was not supposed to be done. However, Murakami wanted them to share their pleasure equally. He wanted Keisuke to know how to hold someone as well as how to be held, so he had taught him with his own body.

His master was tight and warm, his body opposing the insertion at first, but soon enough he relaxed enough for Keisuke to move his fingers. He prepared him with care and patience, even if his own body was almost vibrating with need. Finally, it was Murakami that grasped on his wrist and pushed his hand away.

“I am ready,” he told him, and that was all that Keisuke needed. He sunk in him too fast, but Murakami laughed it off and kissed him, briefly whispering “patience” against his lips.

After the initial build-up, the young swordsman made love to him with an animalistic rush, shaking his hips in a frenzy and pushing his legs against his chest, sinking in as deep as he could. Murakami moaned too, wrapping his legs around Keisuke’s hips and calling out for him.

“Kei, Kei,” he called him. “Ah, my little Kei… will you come for me? You don’t have to hold back, I want to see it.”

Keisuke wanted to wait for them to come together, after all he’d already released once, but it felt too good inside his master and he could never resist him. He peaked with a few last harsh thrusts and cried out loud, filling him up and pulling back, panting.

“That was very good,” Murakami told him, pulling him into a hug. His arousal pressed against Keisuke’s stomach, but he did not seem to mind. “You look so beautiful when you’re lost in pleasure.”

“But you did not come,” Keisuke told him, bringing his hand down to help, but once again he was stopped.

“I have no rush. It is still early.” He smirked. “I will show you the power of patience.”

For a moment, Keisuke felt a chill run down his spine. But he would not show his master that he was intimidated. So he smirked as well. “I too wish to continue.”

“You will cry for mercy,” Murakami insisted, with a confidence that irked Keisuke.

He would show him he was not to be underestimated.

Keisuke would have wanted to say, in the end it was a mutual defeat.

To his credit, he had lasted longer than Murakami expected, by the man’s own admission.

However, his master had not lied when he said that he had no rush. And to think that he had been tired from the long travel…

The third time Keisuke came, he was still fine and eager to go again – though not right away, as Murakami mercilessly did, only _then_ picking up his pace and rocking his body with every thrust, hitting that spot inside him that had him seeing stars.

By the fifth time, he was starting to feel sore, but he still spread his legs for his master and welcomed his fingers, grasping on his hair and shaking his hips as the man took him in his mouth again.

By the ninth time, he had lost any sense of time and he could hardly speak a full sentence, but when Murakami made him sit in his lap and guided him on his length he still rode him and clung to him, chasing his own pleasure.

At the twelfth – or so he guessed as they all were starting to fuse together and he was not given a moment to recover – he was almost sobbing as Murakami took his oversensitive cock in his mouth again after he’d just released, whining and insisting that he could not possibly come again, but even if his desire was spent and there was nothing left to come out, his master somehow managed to coax a near-painful orgasm out of him.

He did not know which one it was because he’d lost count, but he knew that he eventually begged him to stop with tears streaming down his face, and his _terrible_ , ruthless, inhuman _beast_ of a master told him he’d be merciful and let him rest… after he was finished, since he was halfway done himself and Keisuke’s body just felt too good, so he couldn’t resist thrusting himself until he finally released inside of him. So, Keisuke had to put up with it even if every touch seemed to reverberate through his whole body and every nerve felt like it was on fire, and every time that spot inside of him was brushed he convulsed and his mind blanked.

When Murakami pulled out of him, even that made him whine, and he could not speak, only letting out soft cries when the man tried to touch him and comfort him. His master looked genuinely concerned, fussing over him and carrying him to his futon, the softer fabric feeling so much gentler on his oversensitive skin that Keisuke almost cried in relief.

He did not know when he fell asleep, but he remembered Murakami watching over him. When he woke up again the sun was high in the sky and his master carried him to a small private bath, apologizing to him for getting carried away.

“A master with no discipline is like a koto with no strings,” Keisuke scolded him, but he was not mad at him. He did not often see that passionate, impulsive side of his master. It reminded him of their first meeting, when the man had nearly killed another swordsman in a duel after they both tried to claim him as their own pupil and neither wanted to step down. The intensity of his desire, it was almost frightening at times, but Keisuke was not afraid of him. His master could be ruthless, even a little selfish, but he was kind and patient too.

“I will forgive you, if you let me hold you tonight,” Keisuke then told him with a mischievous smirk.

Murakami had sighed.

“And here I was concerned for you… what a foolish old man.”

They both laughed, and Keisuke rested his head against his chest. He knew he would have to give up on him, someday, but he was not ready yet. And, from what he saw, neither was his master.


End file.
